Mollycoddling
by Sherlockian87
Summary: My brain does weird things. It gives me a word, and tells me to write a story about it. Hence, this is the result!


**I don't know what this is. My brain just decided to pull this word randomly from ... somewhere, and then it forced me to write this. Enjoy ... ?**

 **Also, please ignore if there are any mistakes, I wrote this up in an email (seeing as I'm not on my own computer ...)**

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Mollycoddling

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Something wasn't right with Sherlock. Something hadn't been right for the passed several weeks. Molly would have to be blind not to see it, and she knew that she could always see him, read him so much better than anyone else. Even John. Perhaps, even the man himself.

Sherlock had been spending more and more time at her flat. Either stretched out across her settee or curled up beneath her sheet and coverlet. He wouldn't say much, which wasn't uncommon. She was used to that, knowing that he enjoyed her flat because of the silence. He could enter into his Mind Palace and be completely at peace, with Toby perched comfortably upon his chest. She couldn't stop the smile from coming to her face when ever the feline decided to do this. Her smile would always widen when Sherlock would scratch Toby behind the ears, just the way he liked it.

It reached ultimate not rightness on a evening that had originally proceeded in what had started to become routine; once her shift reached its end Sherlock would follow her home. The man was almost like a lost puppy. She would cook for them both, and he would eat what she dished out for him. Then afterwards he would dry the dishes after she washed them before they would go and sit on her settee and watch telly. Usually Doctor Who re-runs. He would lie with his head in her lap, and without him having to ask, she would card her fingers through his hair.

When her eyes would begin to grow heavy Sherlock would turn off the telly. He would sit up and go into her room and change into his pyjamas while she was in the loo, brushing her teeth. There places would then switch, and once this was over she would go into her spare bedroom, and he into her room. This night though, something was different; she was in her bedroom when he walked in.

"Oh! Sorry! I just needed to get -" she started to explain.

Sherlock dismissed the end of her sentence with a wave of his hand. He moved to the bed and slipped beneath the sheets. Molly watched him for a moment, then remembered that she was in there for a reason.

"Right, ahh..." she proceeded to continue rummaging through her drawer, but eventually pulled back looking defeated. "Damn," she muttered beneath her breath. "Oh well." She closed the drawer. "Night Sherlock."

She began to walk passed him. He reached out and grabbed her hand, all it took was one direct pull to have her toppling down upon the bed. She yelped, and made another small noise of surprise when he pulled her close to him. Bloody hell! Sherlock Holmes was spooning with her!

"Stay," he mumbled into her hair.

She stared straight ahead. "I thought you liked the space?" she asked him.

"Mm. Stay. Cold."

"All-all right."

He let out a happy sigh, and Molly forced her body to relax. There was nothing though that she could do about her racing heart. She knew that he had to feel it, if not also hear it. A few minutes later, when a soft snore reached her ears she held back a giggle. Ever so slowly she placed her hand on top of his, the one that was splayed out across her stomach. He murmured in his sleep, the tip of his nose brushing against the back of her neck.

She wasn't going to read into this. She wasn't going to allow herself to make something out of what was surely nothing. Sherlock Holmes didn't do anything without a purpose. Clearly he needed this, needed her. Or perhaps he just needed the assurance that he wasn't alone? He seemed to be a bit at sixes and sevens lately, what with John now being a new father and all. And if Sherlock needed her help then she was always going to be more than willing to give it. Even if that meant sleeping in the same bed together, very, very close to each other.

With a sigh she resigned to the fact that she would have to wait until his hold on her relaxed so that she could slip away. It was possible that he would come to regret his previous decision in the morning, after a good night's sleep. That was something she was not willing to face. She had not had any intention of falling asleep, but she was so comfortable, and pleasantly warm. And it had been such a long time since she had been held. The gentle sound of his breathing was so soothing. Within no time she too had drifted into slumber. But by morning, he was gone. Three days passed before she saw him again.

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He was sat in front of his microscope, a cup of freshly brewed tea beside him courtesy of Mrs. Hudson. For the passed ten minutes he had been staring at the same slide. Staring at it, but not really seeing it. He was on edge, waiting, he abhorred waiting.

Suddenly the glorious sound of the doorbell rang out, then the front door opening proceeded by Mrs. Hudson greeting Molly. When he heard her footsteps on the stairs he cleared his throat and returned his gaze to his microscope.

"Hi Sherlock!" she called out. "Sorry I'm late, Mike had a few questions he needed answered before I could leave. You're lucky he didn't ask me what I was carrying in this." She stepped into the kitchen once she had removed her coat, holding in her hands a small cooler.

He sat up and turned to look at her, realizing that he had yet again not paid the least bit of attention to what was on the slide. He had hoped that seeing her after their night together spent in her bed would not be any different from any of the other times he had seen her. Clearly this was not going to be the case. His throat closed up, and he had to grab up the cuppa and take a sip before he could say anything to her. Molly appeared to be oblivious to his discomfort.

"Do you want the lung in the refrigerator, or do you intend to experiment on it straight away?"

He swallowed another sip. "The refrigerator is fine."

She put the lung away, pulling a face at the rotten thumbs that were in a baggy. "Honestly Sherlock, you should dispose of these. Properly! No wonder why Mrs. Hudson refuses to look in here." She shook her head as she closed the door, turning back around to face Sherlock. She was a bit surprised to find him staring at her. She walked over to him, until she was standing at his side. "What are you studying?" she asked, motioning to the microscope.

"MOLLYCODDLING!" he burst out suddenly.

She flinched slightly, shocked by his loud tone. He began to buffer, blinking rapidly, realizing what he had done.

Her eyes narrowed. "Sherlock Holmes you better not be high!"

His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "I'm not! Molly I swear to you I'm not!"

Her hands were on her hips. "Then explain to me why you're spewing random words?"

"It's not random!"

Her expression said otherwise. "What's going on? You've been acting very strange as of late, and that's quite a feat for you."

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, the curls bouncing back into place. Molly was very briefly distracted by this sight, but forced herself to focus.

"Sherlock. Is something wrong? You can talk to me, use me as your sounding board if you wish. I don't have to say anything, I could just listen. Sometimes it's a good thing to just let out whatever is bothering you."

He sighed again, staring down at the floor. "Mollycoddling," he mumbled.

"Yeah, you said that already. Why do you keep repeating that word?"

He brought his eyes up to meet hers. The expression they held almost frightened her, he looked nervous, and Sherlock Holmes was never nervous.

"Did anyone ever call you that when you were younger?" he asked.

Her eyebrows met. "Mollycoddle? Uhm no ... not exactly. My brother, he ahh, he used to call me Mollywobbles. You know, because I'm rather clumsy at times. I hated it. Still do actually."

Several beats of silence passed.

"Mollycoddling. It means to 'treat someone very indulgently or protectively.'" Sherlock quoted.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Have you been drinking?"

He let out a noise that sounded a bit like a growl. "No," he spat.

"Then please explain to me why you have this sudden fascination with this word!"

"It has your name in it."

She blinked at him. "Yes. Yes it does. What of it?"

He ignored her question. "Do you know you that you are protected, all of the time?"

She continued to stare at him. "What are you saying?"

"Ever since you helped me fake my death there has been an armed guard watching you. Mycroft even ran a background check on Tom, to make sure that there weren't any psychopathic tendencies. He of course conveniently kept to himself that Tom held a near resemblance to me, and the fact that he was an absolute bore."

Molly took a step back, unable to fully process all that Sherlock had just told her. "You-you've had someone follow me?"

"Yes. I needed to know that you were safe."

"Why?"

He swallowed. Ahh yes, Mycroft had warned him about this. He moved to his feet and took a step closer to her, bringing them both back into the close proximity that they had been previously in. She stared up at him, her dark eyes wide and uncertain.

"You're important to me Molly. I told you once before, and I'll tell you again: You. Do. Count."

It was her turn to swallow, his gaze was so intense. "Ok. So ... you've been protecting me, but what about the other part? When have you ever 'treated' me an indulgence?"

"I haven't?" he smirked.

She wanted nothing more than to slap that smirk away. Or kiss it. Yes, kiss it would be preferable. She swallowed again. "Not to my knowledge."

His smirk widened, and he leaned down closer to her, his lips just hovering above her ear. "Have you not taken notice of the fact that I am always wearing either my black or aubergine shirt whenever I come to the morgue?"

His chest met with the flat of her hand. "Arse!" she shrieked, stepping away from him. "You've done it all on purpose? Do you want to drive me mad with want?"

Ignoring her questions yet again he reached out to grab ahold of her. He swallowed any other words that were coming to her lips as he covered them with his own. For several seconds she was stiff in his arms, but when he slid his tongue along her bottom lip she relaxed, leaning into his hold. The kiss deepened as she grabbed tightly onto the collar of his shirt.

When they parted, which felt like hours later but was in fact only several minutes, he gave her a satisfied smile. She tried to gather her scattering, fluttering thoughts, but couldn't manage to do so. Not when he leaned forward to divulge in yet another kiss. She whimpered against his lips this time, bringing her hands up to his hair. They parted once more, struggling for breath.

"Mollycoddling," she muttered.

He nodded before giving her another, much more gentle kiss. "May I Mollycoddle you?" he asked as he pulled away.

She smiled. "I thought that's what you've been doing all along!"

"Mmm." He dipped his head to the side so that he could nuzzle at her neck, directly beneath her ear. "I mean in the more permanent sense." He felt her stiffen beneath his hold, he drew back only to be met with her wide-eyed stare. "Not ... Good?" he questioned slowly.

She blinked, but stayed silent. Now he understood why John thought this expression was so scary.

"Molly? Molly please say something." He placed his hands on her shoulders, then moved to cradle her head; she continued to stare at him.

"I mean what I say Molly. I want to continue to indulge and protect you, for the rest of our lives. Will you have me?"

She let out a shaky breath. "So that's what all this has been? This is why you've been acting so strangely?"

He pouted the tiniest bit. "Yes."

"You're not one for doing things traditionally, are you?"

He grumbled and let go of her.

"Oh no you don't Mr. Holmes!" She grabbed on to him, turning him back to face her. "Are you really going to walk away before I give you my answer?"

He stared down at her expectantly.

"Well ... aren't you going to deduce it?" she asked him.

He knew, he knew what her answer was by the smile upon her face, and her dilated eyes. But that wasn't enough. He wanted to hear her say it, he needed to hear it. "Tell me."

She brought her hand up, cupping the side of his face. "Sherlock, I want you to Mollycoddle me for the rest of our lives, as long as you allow me to return the favour."

He smiled, taking her hand in his and slipping his other one around her waist so that he could pull her close. "I think that can be arranged!" He stated before kissing her once more.

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